Friends: Cover Me
by Syl
Summary: A typical day at WayneCorps turns suddenly violent.


Summary: A typical day at WayneCorps turns suddenly violent.  
  
Disclaimer: All the characters are owned by DC Comics and Time/Warner; this is   
an original story that does not intend to infringe on their copyright.   
  
Feedback is welcome!   
  
Copyright December 2000  
  
****  
  
Friends 8: Cover Me  
By Syl Francis  
  
****  
  
The morning's disappointments weighed heavily on Vic's mind. Nothing had gone as   
anticipated. Lucius Fox personally informed him that Bruce Wayne was not pleased   
with the presentation Vic had drawn up for the latest WayneTech electronic toy.   
Vic kicked himself mentally on the elevator ride down to the lobby.   
  
"I should never have listened to that idiot, Bradley," Vic muttered under his   
breath. Probably wants the account for himself, he fumed silently.   
  
Stepping out of the elevator, Vic crossed the wide-open entrance foyer. The   
place spoke of power and money. He always felt his chest swell just a little for   
being a part of the organization.  
  
"Top o' the mornin' to ye, Murphy!" he called in a poor imitation of an Irish   
brogue. Murphy smiled and waved back at him from behind the security desk. Vic   
felt momentarily better, but then the disappointment of the morning came   
crashing back.   
  
How would he make it up? He'd stared at the rejected presentation for almost an   
hour without so much as a niggling thread of an idea coming to him. Finally, Vic   
decided he needed a walk. Translation? He needed a smoke. WayneCorps officially   
frowned on smoking for health insurance purposes. Unofficially, Vic had heard   
that Bruce Wayne was some kind of a health freak and was afraid of second-hand   
smoke.  
  
Vic sighed. Smokers--the newest second-class citizens. He stepped outside the   
giant glass doors and immediately began searching his pockets...  
  
She turned heads as she strode down the busy sidewalk. Blonde, but not very   
tall. Petite almost, yet she carried herself with a grace and self-assurance   
that seemed to add to her presence. Appreciative whistles and wolf-calls   
followed in her wake.  
  
As she approached the immense glass facade of WayneCorps, Vic looked up from his   
fruitless search for a match.  
  
And practically fell over himself as he rushed to gallantly hold the door open   
for her. She breezed in as if doors being magically opened before her were an   
everyday occurrence. As she passed by him, she rewarded Vic with a dazzling   
smile for his efforts.   
  
Her stunning blue-green eyes instantly ensnared him.  
  
"Whoa!" he whispered. He found his feet and hurried after her. After all,   
despite the morning's setbacks, Vic was a young executive currently on the   
WayneCorps' fast track. When he saw something he wanted, he invariably went   
after it. And he'd just spotted something he wanted.   
  
"Hey, wait!" he called.  
  
Vic almost stumbled into her when she turned. She tilted her head over the side,   
eyes questioning. Vic's heart raced.  
  
"You're right on time!" he declared, making a show of pointing at his watch.  
  
As he spoke, he barely registered that four men in long overcoats had trailed   
behind them into the vast entrance foyer. However, the gorgeous blonde's eyes   
narrowed as the men walked deliberately towards the elevators.  
  
"What?" she asked, distracted.  
  
"I said, you're right on time," Vic repeated, boldly stepping in front of her.  
  
"I beg your pardon?" She pushed him to the side, glaring at whatever she saw   
behind him. Vic's eyes followed hers--she was studying the four men in   
overcoats. They looked like thugs. Vic felt a sudden flash of concern.   
  
Someone should report them to security, he thought. Where's Murphy, he wondered?   
The veteran security guard was currently assisting an elderly woman at his   
station. Vic's musings were interrupted by the object of his attraction.  
  
"Excuse me," she said, making a move towards the elevators.  
  
A musical chime ~pinged!~ as a set of elevator doors opened smoothly. Those   
waiting to get on, hung back as the passengers off-loaded. The men in overcoats   
stood to the side, their eyes scanning the busy entrance foyer nonstop.  
  
At last, the final passenger exited, a tall, sandy-haired man. Impeccably   
dressed, he blocked the elevator doors as he searched for someone. Just as he   
faced Vic's direction, the men in overcoats made a move towards him.   
  
However, Vic had already turned his attention back towards the attractive   
blonde. 'Gorgeous' was not about to get away from him. She was walking at a   
quick pace towards the elevators. Vic found himself walking rapidly backwards in   
order to keep up with her and talking at a rate to match. He stuck his hand out,   
and before she could argue, grabbed hers, shaking it vigorously.   
  
"My name's Vic, and I've been waiting for you all morning."  
  
She didn't exactly ignore him, and yet, in less than a heartbeat, she'd slipped   
from his grasp, and Vic was once again standing alone in the middle of the   
foyer.   
  
"That's very interesting," she muttered, still moving and keeping her eyes   
ahead. "Looks like they have something under their coats. You'd better scramble   
some back-up."   
  
Determined not to lose her, Vic immediately turned and quickly jogged after her.   
Almost next to her, Vic reached for her. "Yes, but that's just one of the many   
interesting things about me that I'd love to show you. Miss--?"  
  
"Duck!" she cried.   
  
Before he knew what was happening, Vic found himself tumbling head over heels   
and landing on his rear end behind the security desk. In a daze he heard the   
sounds of screams and automatic gunfire. How had he gotten all the way over   
here, he wondered, confused.  
  
"Everybody, down! Now!"  
  
"Duck?" he mumbled. "Her name's Miss Duck?"  
  
"You okay, Vic?" a harsh voice asked from overhead.  
  
Vic looked up from his awkward position at Murphy, the security guard who'd been   
manning the front desk. Murphy was crouched behind the security desk, his weapon   
drawn. Vic's eyes widened. In the two years he'd been working at WayneCorps,   
he'd *never* seen any of the security guards draw their weapons.  
  
Something about Bruce Wayne not liking guns, he'd heard.  
  
"What's going on?" Vic croaked. The staccato sound of gunfire finally registered   
in his mind. An earsplitting explosion abruptly rocked the building.  
  
Unable to help himself, Vic screamed. Ashamed of the high girlish sound, he felt   
a little relieved that his screams were lost in the thunderous roar   
reverberating around him. He grabbed Murphy, holding onto him like a frightened   
child as the floor and walls continued to shake and move.  
  
"Earthquake?" he asked shakily.  
  
Murphy shook his head. "Explosion," he said laconically. "Rocket launcher,   
probably."  
  
More explosions and small arms fire rocked the building. Uncaring about   
appearances, Vic buried his head under Murphy's protective shield, feeling   
ashamed of his weakness. Funny, Vic had never thought of himself as a coward,   
before. But now?  
  
After several long seconds of shaking, it appeared that the building was not   
going to fall on top of him. Vic finally dared to look up.   
  
"I-Is it over?" he whispered. Nodding cautiously, Murphy slowly rose until he   
could see over the desk. He waved his hand at Vic to stay put. Vic nodded his   
understanding, relieved that the building had stopped moving from under him.   
However, before he could catch his breath, he was again forced to roll into a   
tight ball.  
  
Vic again screamed in terror as the wall display immediately above his head was   
abruptly raked with a violent eruption of automatic weapons fire. Broken shards   
of glass and marble rained down on them.  
  
Vic tried to make himself smaller, covering his head in panic.  
  
"Stay down!" Murphy shouted. "You'll be safe here. This desk is constructed of   
the same material as an Abrams tank!"  
  
"'Duck,' she said..." Vic whimpered, realizing what the beautiful blonde had   
meant. "She told me to 'Duck--'!" It was she who'd somehow thrown him all the   
across the room to land behind the desk.  
  
Vic looked up at Murphy, but the veteran guard was gone. Vic looked around. The   
floor was littered with debris. He felt a sudden panic. This was the security   
station. Maybe whoever was attacking them would come here, searching for the   
guard on duty. But Murphy was gone and the only one left was--*him*!  
  
"I've gotta get out of here!" he said, desperate. The noisy din of battle still   
raging from within the foyer halted him.   
  
More screams. More gunfire.  
  
And then, just as suddenly as it started, it ended.  
  
Vic swallowed several times, trying to still the hammering in his chest. He was   
hyperventilating. He had to slow his breathing, he knew. Taking deep, gulping   
breaths, he tried to assess the situation in his mind.   
  
Vic didn't know what was more terrifying--the explosive clamor of just moments   
prior, or this deathly stillness.   
  
He had to do something. He couldn't just cower here in fright waiting to be   
killed. Making up his mind, Vic began to crawl on all fours towards the far edge   
of the security station. Closing his eyes in fear, Vic counted to ten and then   
taking a deep breath, dared to peek around the relative safety of the massive   
steel desk.  
  
The place looked like a war zone.  
  
Several of the huge plate glass windows had been blown out. A gaping hole where   
the elevators used to be emitted black, acrid smoke. The immaculate marble   
floor, which just moments ago had shone to a mirror gloss, was littered with the   
rubble of a recently fought battle.  
  
Vic slowly stood, eyes wide at the level of destruction. Something out of the   
corner of his eye moved.  
  
"*Stay down*!"   
  
Vic was suddenly pushed over and back as a hard body slammed into him. Something   
whizzed by directly overhead. Whatever or whoever had pushed him down was   
pinning him securely, a hand over his mouth.  
  
"Don't move! The situation is still not under control! Got it?"   
  
Vic looked up into the serious features of the lovely blonde for whom he'd   
opened the door earlier--Miss Duck. He nodded, eyes wide with fright.  
  
"Good!" she hissed, releasing him. Then, inexplicably added, "--I know! I know!   
We're looking at possible mass casualties!"  
  
Vic looked around quickly, trying to see with whom she was speaking. There was   
no one there. Vic stared at her. She seemed to be talking to herself. Suddenly,   
she grabbed one of her earrings and shouted into it.  
  
"How would *I* know? They had on overcoats, and it's close to ninety outside. I   
thought they looked just a little suspicious."  
  
"Who--?" Vic started to ask, tapping her forearm. She knocked his hand away.  
  
"Yeah, well, tell 'im, it's a little late. I'm already up to my eyeballs in   
alligators. He's gotta evacuate from an alternate route. I recommend the roof."  
  
She paused to listen.  
  
"Too frigging bad that the elevators aren't working. They'll just have to take   
the stairs!" Pause. "I don't *care* if it's forty flights straight up--it's   
Beirut down here!"  
  
She paused again.   
  
"*No*! I *do not*--repeat--*do not* need his help! I've got the situation under   
control here! You get it?"  
  
"But you said--?" Vic began.  
  
She waved him to silence, listening to whatever voices only she could hear.  
  
"That's better." She sounded mollified. "And tell 'im he owes me lunch!" She   
turned to face Vic, and making a face, addressed him. "Boy! What a girl's gotta   
do to earn a free meal around this lousy town!"   
  
She paused to listen, her features softening.   
  
"Okay, tell him I promise to be careful. Gotta go. Out."   
  
While speaking, she'd been moving stealthily around the security desk. Stopping   
at the edge, she waved Vic to her. He scrambled quickly to join her. He wasn't   
sure why, but Vic felt much safer now that she was near.   
  
This feeling was short-lived. She held out what looked to Vic like a Very Big   
Gun.   
  
"Um--Mr. Wayne, uh, doesn't much like guns--" he began.  
  
"Got this one off of one of the bad guys," she explained. "Don't worry. I'm not   
going to use it." Expertly, she ran her hands over it, did a few adjustments,   
and tossed the weapon to him.  
  
"*You* are!" she said. "Cover me."  
  
"What--?" Vic squeaked. "I-I don't know how to--? I've never even fired--!"  
  
She turned back, and impatiently grabbed the weapon from his hands. She   
hurriedly mumbled something to the effect of "Like this!" Quickly muttered a few   
more phrases he didn't quite get--airspeed...maximum effective range...center   
mass...and where's Arsenal when you need him?--and then, faster than Vic's eye   
could follow, demonstrated how to fire it.  
  
"Got it?" she asked, tossing it back to him. Without waiting for his response,   
she took off running. Vic watched, frozen as she tumbled and weaved across the   
vast expanse of the WayneCorps foyer, targeted by multiple weapons fire.   
  
"Cover me!" she yelled.   
  
Vic suddenly felt as if he were watching himself in a slow-motion film, his   
actions that of someone else. Trembling, he brought the unfamiliar weapon around   
the security desk, and closing his eyes, began to fire at random.  
  
"Oh, please, don't let me hit anything!" he prayed with quiet fervor. "Oh, God,   
please don't let me hit anything...!"  
  
****  
  
It seemed that he'd been firing his weapon forever, when Vic realized that he'd   
been out of ammunition for several seconds. His stinging eyes were still shut   
tightly against the horrors of combat that he'd found himself in.  
  
His fingers suddenly numb, he dropped the weapon he'd been holding. The   
knowledge that he'd fired a weapon in self-defense, possibly wounding or killing   
a fellow human being, was almost too much to take in at once. Overcome by   
emotion, Vic began quietly sobbing.  
  
In the distance he heard the sound of sirens fast approaching. At this point, he   
grasped that his hearing must have been temporarily affected. For all at once,   
he began to hear the heartrending sounds of the aftermath of battle--the cries   
of the living.  
  
Through the black smoke, Vic could see Murphy kneeling here and there, offering   
solace to some, shaking his head and moving sadly away from others.  
  
"It's over, Vic," a soft voice said next to him. Vic looked up into the soft,   
blue-green eyes he'd admired so much just a few moments ago.  
  
"Y-You--remembered my n-name?" he asked. She gave him a tired smile. He noticed   
that she had a slight bruise on her left cheek and that her chin was smudged   
with soot. Her long, blonde hair was a bit disheveled, but not much. She looked   
beautiful.  
  
"Of course," she said, giving him a hand up. Her eyes seemed to lose focus,   
again as if she were listening to something only she could hear. "Excuse me a   
moment, Vic," she said. Before turning, she pointed at Murphy and several other   
WayneCorps employees who were helping the wounded. "Why don't you give them a   
hand?"  
  
Before Vic could answer, she'd faced away from him and begun to speak in low   
tones.  
  
As Vic started towards Murphy, he thought he heard her say, 'Babs,' but wasn't   
sure.  
  
****  
  
Vic watched as the big boss, Bruce Wayne and his right hand man, Lucius Fox   
talked to the news media.  
  
"A vicious, unprovoked attack against WayneCorps and its thousands of   
employees...!" Fox was saying.  
  
"Mr. Wayne, what about their claim that WayneCorps' manufacturing practices in   
Southeast Asia amount to little more than slave labor?"  
  
"That's nonsense!" Fox said sharply, stepping forward to the cameras again.   
"These men were plain and simply terrorists! WayneCorps is the victim. Not the   
instigator! Now, if you ladies and gentlemen will excuse us--"  
  
"But what about--?" several of the news media began at once.  
  
"I can vouch for WayneCorps!"  
  
All eyes turned to the gorgeous blonde. Vic stood unmoving. Who *was* she, he   
wondered? He'd seen how she'd practically waylaid the four terrorists and   
single-handedly stopped them from causing more harm than they'd been able to do.   
  
"My name is Dinah Lance," she said. "Some of you might know me better as--"  
  
"The Black Canary!" a local television reporter shouted.   
  
Vic's jaw dropped. The Black Canary?  
  
She turned and smiled at him, giving him a quick wink. Then, tossing her head   
the same way she had when he first saw her, she waved at the cameras and stepped   
forward. Bruce Wayne solicitously took her by the arm and led her to the stand   
of microphones.  
  
"Before you ask," she began, "Mr. Wayne approached me several weeks ago with his   
concerns about his Southeast Asian holdings. WayneCorps USA had lost contact   
with their overseas plant managers, and Mr. Wayne was growing worried. He'd   
already asked the State Department to step in, but was told that it would be   
months before they'd know anything."  
  
She shrugged and once again offered the cameras one of her dazzling smiles.  
  
"That's where I came in. I happen to be a resident of Gotham City and was very   
impressed by the fact that WayneCorps stood by the city during NML. Through a   
reliable source, I found out that WayneCorps' Southeast Asian holdings might be   
in trouble. I offered Mr. Wayne and Mr. Fox my services." She winked at the   
cameras.   
  
"I guess my reputation preceded me, so they accepted. Luckily, I arrived in time   
to rescue the plant managers and their families--as well as several other   
employees--from being executed."  
  
A surprised murmur arose from the spectators.  
  
"From execution? But why--?" someone shouted.  
  
"Were they being held for ransom?" another asked.  
  
"If so, then by whom--?" still another shouted.  
  
"The WayneCorps employees and their families were held hostage by a terrorist   
cell that's been operating in that region for several months now. They weren't   
being held for any kind of ransom, but rather to make a statement. Their murders   
would have brought further instability to the region, which is what the   
terrorists wanted. Fortunately, the local authorities were able to apprehend   
most of the members of the terrorist organization. Unfortunately, as we learned   
today, a few managed to escape."  
  
"Did you suspect that the WayneCorps building was going to be hit today, Ms.   
Lance?"   
  
Black Canary shook her head, 'no.' Lucius Fox stepped in.  
  
"No, we were under the impression that the danger was over," he said. "We had no   
idea that any of the terrorists had escaped arrest, or that they were even in   
the country."  
  
"Then why are you here today, Ms. Lance?" another reporter asked. "Are you in   
the employ of WayneCorps?"  
  
Black Canary laughed, a light sparkling laugh. "A girl's gotta make a living   
somehow, right?"   
  
The reporters joined in her laughter.   
  
"How about it, Mr. Wayne? Is the Black Canary on the employee rolls of   
WayneCorps? Have you hired yourself a superhero as your lead troubleshooter?"  
  
"Well, Mr. Wayne?" Black Canary asked, lightly teasing. "Am I just another one   
of your employees?"  
  
Bruce Wayne held her eyes momentarily, his dark eyes devoid of humor. Finally,   
turning to the cameras, he addressed them.  
  
"Ms. Lance is not now, nor has she ever been an employee of WayneCorps. Ms.   
Lance acted under her own capacity as a freelance adventurer, accepting no   
payment of any kind from my company."  
  
"Then why did she help your company specifically, Mr. Wayne?"  
  
Wayne glanced at Black Canary. Vic saw something indefinable pass between them.  
  
"Because she's a hero, and that's what heroes do." Bruce glared out at the   
reporters as if daring them to ask anything further. "That's all. I have work to   
do."   
  
With that, he stepped away from the microphones. He, Fox, and Black Canary were   
followed by a string of shouted questions in their wake. Vic took the   
opportunity to walk up to the beautiful superhero.  
  
"Ms. Duck?" he called. Black Canary turned, eyes curious.  
  
"What did you call me?" she asked. Wayne stood to her right, not quite touching,   
but close.   
  
Vic felt a stab of jealousy. Why did Wayne get all the beautiful ones, he   
wondered?  
  
"Ms. Duck," Vic admitted, smiling. "That's what you said earlier, when I asked   
you your name. You said, 'Duck.'" Vic's smile widened. "Before you threw me out   
of the way. Thank you. You saved my life. And a lot of others here."  
  
"My pleasure, Vic," she told him, taking his hand and holding it for a moment.   
"It was the least I could do after you opened the door for me. And you *did*   
cover my as--"  
  
She was interrupted by Wayne suddenly clearing his throat. Grinning knowingly,   
she finished, "Well, you provided cover for me when I asked. You're a real hero,   
Vic. Thank you."   
  
She leaned forward and pecked him lightly on the cheek. "And, please, call me   
'Dinah,'" she added.  
  
Vic flushed deeply. To mask his discomfiture, he made a show of looking at his   
watch.   
  
"Listen, I'm on my lunch hour right now." Glancing up his company's two top   
executives, he swallowed and then hurried on, afraid he'd lose his nerve. "A-And   
it would be my pleasure if y-you would j-join me?"  
  
Dinah smiled apologetically. "I'm so sorry, Vic. That sounds like a lot of fun,   
but I already have a lunch date. You see, that's why I'm here..." She glanced up   
Wayne. As she locked eyes with him, her expression became unmistakable. To Vic's   
amazement, Bruce Wayne's usually taciturn glare softened considerably as he   
stared back at her.  
  
"Oh, um...of course," Vic stammered. "Um, thanks again...Ms., um, Duck...I-I   
mean, Ms. Canary--Lance! Ms. Lance! Thanks--" He turned and began to walk away   
when someone grabbed him by the arm.  
  
"'Dinah'!" a voice said next to him. "I told you to call me 'Dinah.'"  
  
Speechless, Vic looked at her, surprised.  
  
"Of course," Dinah was saying as she began to pull him along, walking arm in arm   
with him, "I have a feeling that your boss is going to be much too preoccupied   
by this little incident for the next few days to pay any attention to me. And   
let's face it--a girl's who's been out of the country for a couple of weeks   
needs to feel like she's being paid attention to."  
  
Tossing her head, she looked up him, mesmerizing him with her blue-green gaze.   
"So, what do you say to lunch at my favorite restaurant? And don't worry...I   
know a really rich guy who's picking up the tab!"  
  
****  
  
The End  
####  



End file.
